


We Need Each Other

by mishabutts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Set hours after 8x17-Goodbye Stranger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:38:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishabutts/pseuds/mishabutts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few hours after Castiel disappears from the crypt, Dean prays to him.</p><p>
  <i>We anchor each other. We are better together and you know it. Just come back, Cas, please.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Need Each Other

Dean knows. He does. He knows Castiel; has watched him kill and burn and smite with all the callous precision of an angel. It’s impressive, of course, and useful at times… but it can be shocking and ugly too because Dean’s seen the vulnerability in Castiel, the uncertainty and the tremble in his hands when he’s unsure of himself. He’s seen the small quirk of happiness that plays at his friend’s lips when, for a couple of minutes, the world is put on hold and it’s just the two of them. Dean will reference some stupid shit and Cas will watch him fondly, indulging Dean in this game they play – the pretence that there’s no such thing as an apocalypse, that there are no hell trials or tablets inscribed with the Word of God, and it’s good, this thing they have.

But they haven’t gone there, haven’t played their game in months and Dean is at a loss for why because he knows Cas needs it as much as he does. It’s the escape they need, he thinks, escape from the guilt, the anger, the bullshit that comes knocking, it’s escaping from time to time that lets them keep on going. Cas needs it as much as Dean, he is sure. Hell, maybe Cas needs it even more.

Because for all of the angel’s righteous calculation and stone-cold stoicism, there is a warmth in him unlike anything Dean has found before. It’s something new, something strange, as incandescent and as vivid as Castiel’s Grace itself, and it pulls Dean inside out. It’s grounding and disconcerting at the same time and Dean has no idea how he can hold onto it, how he can hold onto Cas, whose entire being is so unconfined and so powerful Dean isn’t supposed to be able to comprehend it, let alone yearn for it.

Dean knows Castiel. He knows that warmth, and it wasn’t there last night in the crypt, not at first. He knew when it was back though, felt it pouring into him along with Castiel’s healing Grace, and he felt it leave with the rush of wings when Cas took off. He misses it now probably more than he ever has.

It’s five in the morning according to the clock on the bedside table and Dean had managed to doze for a while, an hour perhaps, but he doesn’t feel very rested. He’s more tired after his wakeful nap than he was before he climbed into bed four hours ago but he can’t seem to fall back to sleep. He thinks that perhaps it’s because he hasn’t prayed yet; it’s become something of a habit, which he’s maybe a little ashamed to admit.

So Dean rolls his eyes and tries to turn a jumble of thoughts into a coherent prayer.

_Cas, hey. S’me again, obviously._

Dean coughs awkwardly, stalling for a second. This feels strange now, now that he knows that Cas had heard him before but never answered. He starts to feel uncomfortable because maybe getting prayers every night is actually really annoying. Hang on, no, tough fucking shit – if Dean had gotten answers every once in a while then he wouldn't need to pray so goddamn often.

He shakes his head and sighs, remembering what Cas had said about Naomi. Worrying is Dean’s MO and apparently this morning is no exception. He casts his mind back to Cas, to the wavelength he sends his prayers along.

_Look, just be careful, you idiot. You don’t want that Naomi chick all over you again because if me and Sam find your scorch marks on some dusty stretch of road I swear I’ll never forgive you._

And now that Dean has begun his worrying, thoughts about the hell trials seep into his consciousness and the knot in his stomach reserved specially for Sammy pulls tightly.

_We can’t do these trials without you. Sam’s a mess, you said so yourself, and I’m barely holding it together as it is, man. I mean, I don’t know if I can deal, you know? This whole thing is real shitty, Cas, and you –_

He stops praying as the mental equivalent of his throat closing up racks his brain and scatters his words. He stops thinking for a while, then takes a deep breath and very slowly blows it out again, steadying himself.

_I don’t know how many times I’ve said it, buddy – last night, those countless prayers in purgatory and all the ones since we’ve been back – I don’t know how many it all adds up to, but I’ll say it again because it’s true: I need you, Cas… I need you. And after last night I know you need me too. We anchor each other. We are better together and you know it. Just come back, Cas, please._

Dean is tired of this, of begging his friend to stick around. He’s tired of _needing_ his friend to stick around. Actually, Dean’s pretty sure he’s just completely exhausted in general. His muscles ache even when they’re not moving and his eyes are sore even when they aren’t open. He needs to sleep for a long, long time.

_Whatever, Cas. We can't keep doing this - I think I’m slowly going insane from lack of sleep and it ain’t pretty. So I'm signing off now, okay? Maybe you’ll be here when I wake up?_

He laughs to himself.

_That was a joke. It was funny and I hope you’re laughing._

A yawn heaves it way out of Dean’s throat as he nuzzles into his sheets and his eyes droop shut of their own accord. He breathes in the smell of fresh linen and tries to lull his mind to sleep.

Before he can persuade his body to shut down completely, however, he mumbles out one last message, a whisper into his pillow.

“I miss you, Cas, you son of a bitch.”


End file.
